Ideal Illusions
by Facade1
Summary: [HHr]There are times when thoughts consume you and the dreams you have leave a scar. One that aches at every mention when you are reminded of it. For every glimpse he has of her, he is bitterly reminded that she isn't his.But can that change?
1. His Obsession

**His Obsession**  
  
He could keep on staring if that was how he intended it to be. To keep that aloof stature at his heels, and appear calm and uncaring. Because that was what he was supposed to be, what he was made out to be.  
  
He could let that smile drift on, upon his face, ever so carelessly that he did not notice the facade enveloping his being. Until the feeling consumed into him.  
  
Letting him choke up on the emotion. That if he wanted to get away, he couldn't, because she would turn.  
  
He wouldn't let her notice, even if it meant suffocating himself, little by little. Even if the edges of his mind would blur together, acquitting the deliverance of his death.  
  
If his dramatic symbolisms were to be correct.  
  
If he so much as cried, she would run to him. Look into his eyes with a look he could only begin to fathom.  
  
It was not that he minded the position she could eloquently place. For he had imagined it plenty of times. When sleep over took him, and the thought of both of them together was not laughable.  
  
That her sweet ringing laughter could be heard. And her mirthful eyes would look at him, sharing a merciful secret. That only he and she would understand. An untold secret that he dare not voice aloud.  
  
At least not right now, when reality was gracing him. Delivering her sweet laughter across the room, only when she knew he was not there.  
  
It was this fact alone that hindered him of the chance. A chance he at first thought of to be possible. The ideal idea of both of them together.  
  
It was only when he slipped in the shadows; not letting her know he was there, could he then only fantasize of them both.  
  
Don't be silly! It will matter if you put that in there.  
  
How he wished she could speak to him in that uncaring tone. The one where she wouldn't slip behind this mask she had made, albeit unwillingly. As it was this price she had to pay for being with him. But only if it could be so much more.  
  
If only he was not who he was made out to be.  
  
If only he was who she was with, with no baggage to claim.  
  
If he ignored the person beside her, he could slip into that state of conscience he had acquired. The alternate world he had proposed to himself when this situation began.  
  
Only would his tension cease, if her hands glided down his back. Only would his body shiver should she place her butterfly kisses on his shoulder. Only would sweet bliss conquer him when her eyes turned to him. Telling him that she wanted, no needed, him as much as he needed her.  
  
It was the neurotic moments that kept this hope alive with him. The one fire he wanted to extinguish. If only to save the little bit of sanity he had left in him.  
  
But he himself couldn't let go. Not if what he imagined were to be true.  
  
That she could possibly feel something _more_, like he did to her. Like he wished for in the deep hours of the night.  
  
With his body curled up in a fetal position. He rested his head on his knees. Did he dare think back on his friend in that way? He kept berating himself to give up on this illusion of both of them together.  
  
But his mind would violently protest. Into which he would cry out in mercy that this obsession was not plausible. The idea of him and she was destructible.  
  
But that snide voice would contradict him. Exclaiming that what was a disaster was she and the one she was with.  
  
Shaking his head furiously, he would proclaim that if it was such a fiasco then how come they were still together? Though the voice inside him would snort in desperation and tell him to look deeper, and to ask himself of how she looked upon him.  
  
With this he could only desperately say it was his imagination. That these dreams were getting to him. No way in the seven hells did they stand a chance.  
  
But it would object him, with his actual belief in his statements. That only when he thought this over, he would quietly shut up.  
  
And the process would start all over again. The pattern binding into his veins. Feigning the illusion of what he thought of the proclamation. That the beginning could only bring on that vague sense of a déjà vu.   
  
That he would forget at every new cycle.  
  
His shoulders then shook softly. That owlishly did he blink to stop the darkness from overtaking his pupils. But as his vision came around so did she.  
  
She was kneeling on her knees worriedly looking at him. Her hair was tussled over, that few curling strands were framing her face. Probably tickling her nose, as she delicately scrunched it.  
  
Oh, how much he wanted to brush them away. If only to feel the soft texture at his fingertips.  
  
Harry? What are you doing here? And especially at this time in the night. She furiously whispered over at him.  
  
He could only take her frantic tone, for that is all she would give to him. All that she could ever think of giving to him.  
  
Her eyes widened in panic, Don't tell me... did something happen Harry!?!  
  
Of course she would think that some event had occurred. Never would the thought possibly cross her mind, that he would listen to her from behind a corner.  
  
he quietly told her. I was just looking for you.  
  
She smiled a bit shyly at him. Then curiously gazed at the surroundings, not quite meeting his gaze.  
  
Whatever for? Why would you need me?  
  
He chuckled quietly at her reply. Whatever would I need you for? Hermione that is about the stupidest question I have ever heard from you.  
  
Her eyes almost bulged out at the word stupid. Like it is against the law to include stupid' and Hermione' in a sentence.  
  
He found her action too captivating to not stop his finger from brushing her cheek. As they made contact, he abruptly catched the look flicker in her eyes.  
  
The one she would wear for him in the sequences of the night. It is with this newfound courage that he allowed himself to whisper:  
  
For everything.


	2. Her Questioning Mind

_DISCLAIMER: I keep forgetting about these buggers. If I was JKR , you'd think I would be writing this with no cost? If you think so then my friend you need greater help than I . No I don't own anything you recognize from the HP series.  
  
**  
Her Questioning Mind**_****  
  
She quietly gathered her books in her hands. Trying to carefully shift them so they could fit into her overfilling bag. With great aggravation she struggled to get them all together.  
  
She then looked over at her partner. He just sat there upon the cumbersome chair with a look of great exasperation marking his face. His foot impatiently tapping against the dingy floor beneath him.  
  
He made no intention of helping her move along.  
  
She has no idea why he didn't just leave her there. Alone she perhaps wouldn't have to hold the pretense of trying to hurry along. How about if she wants to just slowly aggregate her accessories?  
  
She knew he wouldn't let her.  
  
Lightly she let out a sigh. She roughly waves her bushy curls away from her face, as she tucks them behind her ears. With great botheration she told her boyfriend, You can go along now. I don't really need your _help_.  
  
She smirked inwardly at the last word she muttered out loud. What great help was he providing her at the moment?  
  
He smiled at her, but there was no mistake of the vexation that treaded at its corners. Airily he chuckled over at her.  
  
Hermione aren't you forgetting one thing?  
  
She winced at his bad grammar. Andrew you did a grammatical mistake. First of all it's _are you not_.' Not what you said –   
  
He huffed out in great annoyance. As he raised his hands he happened to grab fistfuls of his hair.  
  
Would you stop that, he hissed, I don't want to hear your exclamations Miss Perfect!  
  
She gazed upon him with an unflinching stare. Though her outside exterior did nothing to her wavering insides. Her heart then felt a crack forming at its edge. It was whimpering softly at its structure crumbling. How soon was this destruction after their last fight?  
  
How soon can she hold this up? This façade that she at first dismissed.  
  
Well then I'm sorry to be such a bother. Hermione spit out at him.  
  
Andrew shook his head and disgustingly gazed at the door that would bear his exit. She knew he just wanted to get out of here, away from her.  
  
I don't even know why I put up with you. He murmured to himself. But she still heard him.  
  
She turned away from him. So he wouldn't see the tear drops forming at the corners of her eyes. In one of the Muggle books that she had recently read, it proclaimed to never let the enemy see you weak at hand.  
  
But, she thought to herself, since when did she consider Andrew her enemy?  
  
Hermione don't turn away from me baby, Andrew cooed at her.  
  
She shirked away from his awaiting figure. Her stance dictating how uncomfortable she was with this setting. She almost screamed in disgust when he wrapped his arms around her.  
  
She gruffly shook them away. Not now, she whispered at him.  
  
He angrily groaned and wrinkled his nose in irritation.  
  
When will the time be then? He said it in a sarcastic but yet irate manner.  
  
Just because we have study dates doesn't mean it really is a date.  
  
He started to laugh uncontrollably at her. Hermione, my dear Hermione.  
  
How much did she want to slap him at the moment. To feel her hand forcibly knock that superior smirk off his face.  
  
Every time you are with me you should desire my kisses. In fact you should feel obliged that I am even your boyfriend.  
  
Who did he think he was? Oh, she had to use all her willpower from not raising her hand and let it accomplish its awaiting task.  
  
- I could always go back to Jenna. At least she looks pretty –   
  
How dare he say that! True, her physical appearance did not make guys have a second glance at her. But if she made an effort, she knew she could compete with Cho Chang in the looks department.  
  
But yet, his words resounded in her head. Perhaps what she thought about her beauty did not apply to everyone? Maybe he was right about this. Maybe she was truly ugly.  
  
Well why don't you. She said in an aloof tone.  
  
I'm thinking of doing that if you keep giving me these curt responses. He angrily said as he whispered in her ear.  
  
First of all, she greedily grabbed both his hands and shoved them away from her body. - Value my personal space. And you can keep on going on about Jenna but you know, she returned the sick laugh he gave her moments ago, I know the reason you won't go back to her.  
  
He curiously looked at her. Oh. And what will that be, Miss Know-It-All?  
  
She smirked at his direction. Because she is someone else's whore.  
  
She knew before she saw his cheek twitch, that she had hit a nerve. She, herself, couldn't explain why she blurted out her last phrase. The words were just angrily rolling off her tongue. That she didn't give them a second thought. She just wanted to continue talking so he would not.  
  
Yes, she knew her actions were very childish. But she did not mind them much at the moment.  
  
You bitch. He let his words linger in the silent atmosphere.  
  
Is that what you said to her when you found out? She couldn't even let that be stopped. She was enjoying this new side of her too much.  
  
He looked about ready to hex her at the moment. His eyes were ablaze and maybe he wasn't thinking rationally. But still he restrained himself. She was glad to know that he remembered she was Hermione Granger, a witch prodigy, someone not to mess with.  
  
His knuckles were turning a whitish hue, as he tightly shook with his over laced fury. Without a single word he strode to the exit and slammed the door. Well, as hard as he could.  
  
Her gaze lingered at where he was seconds ago. It ceased its fascination with her boyfriend's dramatic exit, as she gathered her belongings.  
  
And as Andrew went, she delicately handled the door and discreetly went out the door.  
  
She let out another grand sigh and leaned back to the grimy wall. She was getting sick and tired of these petty fights she and Andrew would have. He would disagree with every little trivial thing she did, that she again wondered why they were together.  
  
Sure he was handsome with his dirty blond hair and his gray eyes. But should pure attractiveness be the base of a relationship?  
  
She knew it wasn't, but still she did not want to break up their relationship. Because having Andrew made her feel wanted or liked, made her feel more insecure of her self esteem. No matter how against her morals it was.  
  
She looked down the hallway after hearing a low murmur. She hugged herself, unconsciously trying to shield herself from whatever phantom there was.  
  
But as she continued her search, she spotted a figure crouched in a fetal position. A figure that apparently had a shaggy raven black mane of untidy hair. He was hidden behind the corner outside the room she had previously escaped from.  
  
She quickly ran to him and threw her book bag to the side. Not noticing the contents spilling out once again.  
  
She gently shook his shoulders. Trying in vain to contain her anxiety. The figure lifted its head slowly. His eyes owlishly blinked at her, getting use to the surroundings.  
  
As his eyes focused in on her, some of her hair strands trickled down upon her face. With great annoyance she waved them off.  
  
Harry? What are you doing here? She had to seriously contain her panic from her voice. It wouldn't do any good to scare the boy away with her shrieks. And especially at this time at night!  
  
He kept on staring at her with a look she couldn't quite place. His silence was not ceasing her worries. It was doing quite the opposite. Quickly her mind traveled over to a worst case scenario.  
  
Don't tell me, her breath was coming in short pants, Did something happen Harry?!  
  
He still continued his constant stare with her. She could only mimic his behavior. She could not turn away from his emerald orbs, at least not yet.  
  
He quietly told her. Not letting his gaze waver a bit. I was looking for you.  
  
She found herself feeling a bit elated at that comment. Her stare with him then breaks off; she felt that she cannot continue what he wants.  
  
As she looks away her lips twitch out into a bashful smile. Her eyes drift to the floor, anywhere but him, not wanting to look back at his face for some reason.  
  
Whatever for? Why would you need me? She frankly questioned him. After all what is she worth to him?  
  
His eyes light up and he shook his head at her in a form of disappointment.  
  
Whatever would I need you for? Hermione that is the about the stupidest question I have ever heard from you.  
  
What was he going on about? Wait, did he just include her name and stupid in the same sentence?  
  
Just as she was going to delve more into the subject, his finger grazed her cheek. Her mind formats into a blank slate. A wonderful warmth grows a bit at the pit of her stomach. She just started to close her eyes as she tried to treasure the moment.  
  
From a far off distance she heard him say, For everything.  
  
As that sentence echoed off the desolate hallway, he drifted away. She stood in a still position, not moving because she is still reeling over what he just did. Only the lack of his presence makes her vaguely notice him grabbing her things and walking down the corridor telling her to move along or else Filch was going to come.


	3. His Distraught

_  
_**  
_His Distraught_**  
  
He thought he had reached a bottom. One that he could not seem to escape from, since it chained him there. And his position in the bottomless hole didn't seem to be improving anytime soon. Instead he could feel the closure of the opening becoming even closer. Until it loomed over him and closed up tightly. Never letting him see. Never letting him bask into the light wonders.   
  
Every time he caught a glimpse at her features, his insides recoiled. He didn't want to be reminded of this. At the whole unrequited love issue.  
  
Any glance tossed his way would mock him. Her worried gaze did nothing to improve his mood. She would do nothing more than worry about him. And that emotion he could not stand.  
  
Why couldn't she come up to him? Why couldn't she let her lips linger above his? Why could she not at least feel the same way he did?  
  
Did he not have enough problems in his life than to have this tossed in front of his face. And to make him positively emotionally distraught?  
  
Silently he breathed in more oxygen. His fingers relaxed his hold over his quill. He shut his eyes and basked in the silence that accompanied him. His breathing tuned out the scratching of quills and the shuffle of parchment.  
  
His hand was then covered by her own. Her soft and angelic hand. Still he did not dare open his eyes. He did not dare to come back and uphold that dreaded façade he had come to detest.  
  
Harry. Is there something wrong?  
  
He gritted his teeth and shook his head. No, nothing was wrong. Nothing could ever go wrong. Besides these constant life threats and the new conflict that enthralled his heart.  
  
her voice was laced with exasperation and sadness. Why won't you talk to me?  
  
Slowly he opened his eyes and looked her over with nothing that could dictate what he was feeling inside.  
  
What do you mean? I am talking to you now. Am I not?  
  
She looked dejected and her shoulders slumped over.  
  
You know very well what I mean. I can just cry from the pain your neglecting me is causing me. Can't you see Harry? You're hurting both of us.  
  
He could see her eyes now glittering with tears that she reluctantly held back. After seeing it for a few seconds, he couldn't stand it and looked downcast at the parchment he had been writing on.  
  
Pain. Hermione you know nothing about pain.  
  
What did she know about pain. Did she experience that clenching deep in the recessives of his heart? The one whose burn ached horrendously at every turn of reality. And those that involved her, those realization points that she wasn't his.  
  
she muttered to him. Are you so confident that I know nothing on the meaning of that word.  
  
Those words didn't faze him. A deep gut wrenching feeling was forming in the bottom of his stomach. He wanted to truly tell her about these new dilemmas so she would be there to help him. Like the times they had before. Where they would triumph over whatever obstacle that got in their way. But this feeling. This conflict.  
  
It was different.  
  
Vaguely he felt his fingers entwine with hers. He leaned his body forward and reached across the library table.  
  
He felt her body stiffen, yet she did nothing more to discourage his closeness to her.  
  
There is so much you don't know Hermione. So many indescribable feelings that flit through my mind. And never let me sleep, they never grant me any rest.  
  
He saw her brows furrow in her forehead; her expression showed that she was confused. She then reached towards him and met his stare halfway across the table.  
  
What is this about Harry?   
  
Her question resounded in his head. Over and over.  
  
There were so many complications to this problem that it was quite simple actually.  
  
He thought that he possibly might love her.  
  
Yet, he didn't want to jump to that conclusion. Oh, he never would allow himself to step over those bounds. It would be too much. For him and for her.  
  
And did he really need this?  
  
Did he have to have her concerned eyes turned on him every time and yet have them never truly consent the fact of why she should be concerned in the first place?  
  
  
  
Both of them jumped apart from each other. His fingers loosened their hold on hers. He felt that ache in his chest again. That dreaded solitary feeling.  
  
her surprised tone made him shut his eyes so he wouldn't have to see this display.  
  
Why are you here? He heard her question the intruder. Her boyfriend.  
  
I just decided to drop by the library and saw you here.  
  
He disgustingly turned away from them. That crack in his heart was getting wider. Deeper.  
  
So you finally had enough brain cells to rub together to discover that there is indeed a library.  
  
In the abyssal parts of his conscience, he was astonished to have those words roll off his tongue.  
  
And accordingly the others present were as well. Hermione stared at him shocked, while Andrew blinked furiously.  
  
Harry stood up and grabbed his book bag. Quickly he stuffed the parchment he was writing on previously in. His fingers smudged the glossy ink. But at the moment this did not distract him.  
  
I'll see you later Hermione. Then he nodded his head at the stupefied boy to the left of her.  
  
Without another word he marched his way to the exit. He passed the astounded faces of the people who overheard him.  
  
As he passed the looming library doors, his marching broke into a desperate run. His legs beat down on the ancient stone floor, and his book bag slammed into his side at every swing.  
  
Adrenaline pumped into his veins, and the anger that started off so quietly acted as a catalyst. His nostrils flared out as his lungs demanded for more air.  
  
He stopped abruptly and bent down, trying to catch his breath. The sling off his book bag slipped off and plopped down to the floor.  
  
Turned quite into a drama queen have you?  
  
Harry lifted his head and gave a disgruntled look at Ron.  
  
What do you want?  
  
Ron walked towards him and picked up the discarded book bag. He sighed and ran his hands over the side of his face in exasperation.  
  
I want my best mate back.  
  
Harry turned away from him and stared down at the abandoned corridor.  
  
Well what the hell am I then? Harry stomped his foot down to emphasize his annoyance.  
  
You are certainly not him. Ron continued despite Harry's furious stare. I don't know what has been going on with you lately Harry. First you have your little hissy fits last year, then you come back all closed off.  
  
Harry leaned back on the grimy stone wall and merely raised an eyebrow at Ron's exclamations.  
  
Closed off? Harry questioned him.  
  
Yes, you show no emotions and almost want nothing to do with us.  
  
Harry returned to having a staring contest with the mildew that was creeping in a crack along the wall.  
  
- Hermione and I have been talking –   
  
The anger consumed his insides once again. His hands clenched into fists, so tightly that his knuckles were turning a whitish hue.  
  
So you two have been talking again. All behind my back, without me! What is it now? Huh, answer me now Ron! What can you two possibly be discussing that I can't handle?!?  
  
Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Harry decided he didn't want to hear it. He was tired off this constant bull shit. Tired of all these problems that plagued him every second of his existence.  
  
Harry shook his head at Ron. Then simply walked away from him and the whole world, if only for a moment.**_  
_****_  
_**


	4. Her Agitated Emotions

  
  
**_Her Agitated Emotions  
  
_**Her feet stood rooted in that same spot. The dreaded spot that had a few cracks forming and whose spot in the carpet was invaded by ink spills.  
  
She watched him walk away from her. Away from what he was about to say. Her heart desperately tried to seek for him. But she couldn't move.  
  
Reality held her in her own suspended moment.  
  
She was so close to him once. And now the uncovering point of his conflicts was denied to her. All over again.  
  
I'm glad he is gone. He really is that arrogant attention seeking boy they make him out to be, isn't he?  
  
Hermione turned to stare at Andrew, who in the meantime took Harry's spot.   
  
Her gut churned as she noticed more with each passing second that he was lounging in Harry's space.   
  
Her tiny hands clenched the quill that was still grasped in her hand.  
  
He isn't, she spit out, I am afraid that were you in his situation you wouldn't be pleased with the results.  
  
Andrew chortled and propped the chair back. Hermione almost wished that he fell on his back.  
  
Yes, I would be downright spiteful if I had his fame and riches.  
  
Hermione started to gather her things. Well you don't have to work hard at being hated.  
  
Andrew wagged his finger at Hermione. Ah, Mione, hate is such a strong word. And it has a terrible connotation.  
  
Hermione shivered at his nickname for her.  
  
Am I sending shivers down your spine, love? Andrew waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive way.  
  
Hermione merely glared at him.  
  
Look, it is _Hermione, not Mione._  
  
Andrew frowned at her.  
  
Aren't you pleased that I am attempting to make this work?  
  
Hermione simply bottled her ink pot and started to organize her things. The few people that were in that library corner were too absorbed in their work to pay the couple any attention now that Harry left.  
  
Making what work? Our horrid relationship?  
  
Andrew walked over to her and grabbed her around the waist. She spun around to face him.  
  
After a few seconds of staring into his eyes, Hermione broke their stare and sighed.  
  
We should end this. I mean we are better off not knowing each other. Your attempts aren't working, and your other motives as well. She whispered that to him.  
  
What other motives? You don't think I got attracted by your beautiful charm?  
  
Hermione let out a bitter laugh.  
  
Andrew, what possibly would have drawn you to me is some sick illusion that I would spread my legs out wide for you.  
  
His eyes gleamed at this statement.  
  
Would you? He proposed to her.  
  
She shoved his hands off her waist in disgust.  
  
Go back to her. You would be better off chasing Jenna then to be stuck with me. In some ugly bickering relationship.  
  
Andrew shoved his hands into his robe pockets. You don't think that our arguments cause some sexual tension? Or at least some lustful attraction?  
  
Hermione couldn't help but snort uncontrollably. Andrew backed off a bit at her unladylike behavior.  
  
Oh, that is rich. What would lust gain you anyway?  
  
Andrew smirked and said, A whole lot of action. – And not to mention hurt. It is an insult to be with someone if you just feel some wavering emotion.  
  
How would you know if it doesn't waver then? He asked her.  
  
Hermione clutched her book and starred at the leather cover for some time. It is indescribable, she simply said.  
  
Andrew quirked an eyebrow and waved his hand to urge her to go on.  
  
You must have some clue.  
  
She shook her head softly. Her mouth was open ready to insert a loving poem that described how, where and what you were suppose to feel. But as she looked at Andrew's curious gaze she found that it didn't matter.  
  
No, her heart hammered in her throat as she stared at the same spot that Harry had been in. An odd feeling crept up her spine as she spotted a few ink marks left by Harry. The stains pointed towards the exit as the glistened on the tabletop.   
  
With no hesitation at all, she walked past the bemused boy.  
  
Her lungs demanded for oxygen as she rushed past the corridors. Her feet pattering over the cracks the floor presented.  
  
She would stop every once in a while and squint around. But she couldn't find him. He was nowhere to be found.  
  
Her book bag had gotten considerably lighter, she noticed. As she checked the inside contents she discovered that some books were missing from her bag.  
  
After a few more minutes of her continuous search, she slumped down on the floor in defeat and tried to sort out her agitated emotions.  
  
She gazed at the mildew in a small crack on the wall opposite from her. But she didn't seem to really notice the grotesque feature. Instead her eyes unfocused as she thought about her brief conversation with Andrew.  
  
What were these confusing emotions? What did they stand for? Why did she not have an answer to her dilemmas anymore? Why had her heart betrayed her so gravely by leaving her in the dark?  
  
Her thoughts then wandered to him.  
  
She couldn't understand why every time she thought of him some strange emotion claimed her. Practically made her choke on the unknown feeling.  
  
Hermione! There you are!   
  
The shout made her break her train of thought. She looked questionably at Ron. Who was running toward her in a frantic speed.  
  
She immediately got up and grabbed what remained of her book bag.  
  
Ron panted a bit and threw her book bag to the side. She watched as more parchments spilled out.  
  
Hermione tapped her foot and crossed her arms, awaiting an explanation.  
  
As he reached her though he only said one thing and somehow that explained everything for her.  
  



	5. His Temptation

_11/27/03- Muchas gracias Nitya!**  
  
His Temptation**_****   
  
His eyes roamed over the vast scenery. One whose grand field was filled with plush grass. The stalks reaching waist height, ones whose brush would tickle his skin. That would make him rush past them just to feel them gracefully caress his legs.   
  
His fingers curled under the ledge of the balcony. The granite stones were cool under his touch. Though the effect made no difference to him, his fingers were already numb from the Scottish winds that would breeze past him. The breezes that would wrap around him, as if testing his resistance.   
  
If anything the challenge arose a need to prove that he could withstand the delicate pain. He could cope with its tantalizing lures.   
  
After all, what was a pitiful wind compared to his whirlwind of emotions?   
  
His body stretched up toward the black abyss. To the sky whose moon was barely shown. The clouds shielding the feature as if he wasn't worthy of seeing its luminous characteristic.   
  
He closes his eyes just to reminisce. To wander deep into the depths of his mind. As these were the perfect moments to do that. Since they were vacant, in need of a rush of thoughts. The kind that would rapidly slip in and out of his mind, without the merit of a second glance.   
  
After all, recently all the thoughts were too much alike for his liking. They would bring out that alternate voice of his out. In which he would vainly argue against. Against the inevitable, something that he dearly did not want to acknowledge.   
  
But what exactly was he trying to prevent?   
  
Her realization that he felt _that_ way about her? The disgust that would mark her face? The rejection that would be blatantly obvious in her stance?   
  
His sigh carried out and joined the furious winds that dimmed in frenzy. As if they were sympathetic towards his cause. As if they actually knew where his thoughts were carrying him. As if they pitied him.   
  
He gritted his teeth and almost wished that a storm would come out. He wanted the weather to show him how much it cared for him. How much it knew how he felt.   
  
He wanted the thunder to call out to him. He wanted the rain to pour around him, just so something would. Just so something would comfort him. And if the weather was the one to do the job, then so be it.   
  
A prickling feeling then washed over him. The tiny hairs encompassed around his body rose in expectation. He held his breath and awaited the mysterious intruder.   
  
The person who interrupted his thoughts on her. Thankfully, he turned around to face the stranger. Just so his thoughts would change. So he would have a temporary reprieve from her.   
  
His hopes were rapidly dashed as he locked eyes with the stranger. His want, his need, was rejected all over again. No mercy was being shown to him.   
  
Since it seemed that fate had deliberately brought her here. Brought her only to tease him. To mock his pleading of the alleviation he craved.   
  
  
  
He wanted her to leave. He wanted her presence to not be next to him. But at the same time his insides clenched together, wanting for her to be closer . . .   
  
How did you find me? His voice betrayed nothing. It was cold and no emotion flickered around his pronunciation.   
  
At least something was on his side. Something was going his way.   
  
Marauder's Map.   
  
Those two words made him mentally curse his stupidity of leaving that out.   
  
her voice cracked, are you out here Harry? It's too chilly and you might catch something.   
  
She crossed her arms hunched over a bit, trying fruitlessly to warm her body.   
  
He turned his back on her. His body position was denying her any response.   
  
He didn't want to look at her and cave in to his obsession. To run over to her and cover her with his body   
  
Are you ignoring me Harry? Why are you acting so childishso closed off? She paused for a while as if searching for an answer to his attitude herself. Is this about what happened Harry? What happened last year?   
  
Hs lips pursed at her accusation. Did she not know when she was not wanted? Did she actually dare come out here and to speak of him about that event?   
  
Shut up Hermione. Go away and bother someone else.   
  
He clamped his lips together so nothing else would come out. So his fury wouldn't consume him.   
  
He heard her feet patter on the stone floor. The clicking of the heels was heard closer.   
  
Harry why are we like this? What happened to us?   
  
He honestly had no clue on how to answer her question. What did she want him to do? Confess that his thoughts revolved around that idea? The idea of both of them sharing those more than friendly feelings?   
  
Nothing has happened. He responded with this simple statement.   
  
After all it was slightly on the honest side. Nothing had happened between them. But to himoh so much had changed. His receiving end of their relationship was craving something else than beside the usual accompany of his best friend.   
  
If nothing has happened then why do I feel this rift between us? Why can you not turn and face me?   
  
Her hand rested on his shoulder. Her small porcelain hand. The one he wished to hold against his own palm.   
  
Harry look at me. Her pleading voice got lost in the furious winds that had recently picked up. Yet he still heard it, he heard her desperation.   
  
His body without the consent of his mind, pivoted around. His tired eyes gazed at her flushed face.   
  
Tell me Hermione   
  
She repeated.   
  
How do I get rid of this? He gestured between them. Her eyes followed his movements in puzzlement.   
  
How can I let go of these constant problems?   
  
The shifting winds played around with her bushy tendrils of hair. They flitted around her face like a veil.   
  
His gut churned involuntarily.   
  
Harry, Voldemort is not something you can let go of. It is something you have to fight against.   
  
He let out a barking laugh. His hands clutched at his sides as his maniacal laughter echoed around the small closure.   
  
Hermione you misunderstand me. I am not talking about Voldemort. My problems are not on him.   
  
He watched her shake her head in bafflement. Then who else would cause this? What possibly could have made you out to be like this?   
  
  
  
Her _expression showed how addled she was by his proclamation. Her figure stood erect and stared at him in a way that demanded an explanation.   
  
His feet carried him to her. The distance was closed between them in seconds. His hand in pure temptation lifted and brushed across her cheek. So lightly that his fingers could barely recall even touching her perfect skin.   
  
You. It has always been you. And I hate you for it.   
  
She stepped back as if she had been slapped.   
  
I hate you for making me feel these emotions. I hate you for not letting me think about anything else. I hate the way that your previous actions have made me live in the past. I hate the way I have to watch you be with someone else. I hate the way I experienced jealousy because of it. I hate the way I am acting now. I hate you because I can't get rid of this conflict. I hate you because I don't want to let go of these feelings. I hate you because I don't think I ever will.   
  
Her body flinched at every sentence he yelled out loud. Her body then dropped to the ground as if she didn't have the energy to stand.   
  
He stood still awaiting somethingsome response from her.   
  
He had to quench every feeling of instinct in him that cried out for him to gather her in his arms. To rock her body against his and tell her he didn't mean it.   
  
But he did.   
  
The problem wasn't what she said. The problem wasn't what she did.   
  
The problem was what she caused.   
  
The pure conflict revolved around making him change so much into some foreign person he had no clue that he was. The clashing involved how he constantly tried to dissolve these feelings. Make them out to be something they weren't. The problem was that he couldn't cut them off if this conflict between them was only imposed on him.   
  
And in the end he couldn't and didn't want to let go of these raw emotions.   
  
No it isn't about me. It cannot be me. Her voice trembled.   
  
Her head lifted and her tangled hair was uncovered by the playing winds. Her hands pushed against the stone floor.   
  
How can it not be about you?   
  
She bit her lip.   
  
Is that so hard to believe? That I feel this way? Now Hermione tell me what is your solution then? What can I do?   
  
He could see the teardrops forming in the corners of her eyes. She closed them to try to prevent the tears to cascade down her prominent cheeks.   
  
He crouched down across from her and took both of her shaking hands into his own.   
  
I don't know . . .   
  
His heart felt the already open wound become bigger. The blood would make him choke. The blood from this painful wound would drip down his arms.   
  
And when the fluid dropped in her hand then would she see. Would she see what she caused.   
  
His hands let go off her. His body then stood up and he stared down at her. At her chapped lips, her widened eyes, her tear streaked cheek . . .   
  
That is what I thought . . .   
  
He left her to the dangerous winds. To the moon that gleamed opaque behind the thin clouds.


	6. Her Surfacing Jealousy

_11/27/03- Finally I have the new chapter out. Thanks Nitya for spending practically all of Thanksgiving betaing. Happy Thanksgiving to you all!**  
  
Her Surfacing Jealousy**_****   
  
Words would come and go. Every so often she would mutter a sound. Then the expected silence drenched her every being. Until all she could smell, feel, touch was its tantalizing hands.   
  
The same hands would grasp tightly onto her throat. Her eyes would squeeze themselves shut. Her mouth would open widely, demanding the drifting breeze. But it would not come. And all she could do was let out a silent scream.   
  
A scream for what?   
  
For the frustration that clawed its way in? Into the edges of her mind? Into the pinpricks of her vision?   
  
Visions. Seeing. Denying.   
  
She has been denying too much of her desires. Desires that would beg for her to listen to them. As if she could resist hearing their loud jeers!   
  
Voices.   
  
She was hearing too much of them lately. Both in and out of her head. At rare intervals of time, she would respond to them with a whisper. A whisper that would cause heads to turn in her direction.   
  
The heads would rapidly turn away when they caught her staring back. She could almost hear their whispers. Their hushed conversations as if they were speaking them to her directly.   
  
It's that Granger girl again.   
  
Again.   
  
She used to be quiet.   
  
Used to?   
  
That was before she was with Harry.   
  
Him.   
  
What do you mean before? Has she ever been out of his sight?   
  
Ignorant little underclassmen.   
  
Well until now.   
  
Until. Now.   
  
Yeah, they aren't attached at the hip anymore, are they? What do you think happened?   
  
Dust particles would come bouncing near her irises. Her heels could pound on the stone floor. Her lungs would shout at her to stop.   
  
But she wouldn't. The pounding in her ears would get louder.   
  
Pump. Pump.   
  
Gasp. Breathe.   
  
Her shaky fingers would take out her long willow wand. Her lips would barely voice an incantation she read about once.   
  
She would step inside the tiny broom closet. Full of pails of cleaning supplies and other accessories Filch would use.   
  
The closure smelled vaguely of sour lemons and sweaty gym socks.   
  
Her home.   
  
Her hands would clamp over her ears. Her body would drop to the ground. As if her feet could not bear holding her weight.   
  
This was a comfortable position.   
  
She was near the sweet ground. The ever giving earth that hosted so much life. So much beauty, underneath the slabs of cement the castle held.   
  
The merciful earth was caged. Oh, it was so much like her. They both were trapped without their consent.   
  
How much did she want to scream again!   
  
To hear her voice shout out all these vexations and addling thoughts.   
  
Why could she not do that? What restrained her from making a childish temper tantrum?   
  
She did not know.   
  
Her confusing thoughts were once so far in between. She was never disoriented for long periods of time.   
  
Until now.   
  
She grabbed the gray pail to her right. The gray metallic pail of some substance. Her trembling hands threw it against the wall.   
  
Clank.   
  
Her hands twitched.   
  
More.   
  
She needed to release her frustration.   
  
Another. More Clanks. More pounding. More.   
  
More.   
  
What a sweet sound the pails made! As they clattered down. As the cleaning substance dribbled down ever so slowly and covered the floor. Swept past her worn out Mary Jane dress shoes. Into her socks.   
  
Oh how beautiful was her destruction! The trite buckets were now demented.   
  
Disfigured.   
  
Imperfect.   
  
Their imperfection-- their flaws was what made them magnificent. What made them _real_.   
  
The world needed more reality.   
  
The world needed to know the bull shit that was life. The media needed to feel the brunt of the failures life produced. The twisted darkness that was _real_.   
  
Not the sick illusions that were presented. The artificial lies that they were taught as children.   
  
Everybody shares. No one tells lies. You will go to that dark place if you disobey.   
  
Bull. Shit.   
  
Pure utter bull shit.   
  
They were all going to hell. Everybody told lies. Everyone disobeys. No one shares.   
  
The world was full of greedy vulgar people and naïve children.   
  
  
That is a fact. A universal truth, if you will.   
  
Much like the utter grievance of unrequited love. Oh love could go to hell with her! She had just about enough of its silly little games.   
  
Games that Fate thought were funny.   
  
How hilarious was it really! Her best friend (was he now?) falls in some cursed love state with her and confesses his feelings under the moonlit night.   
  
And what does she do?   
  
Fall down on the floor and weep like some Cho replica.   
  
Pathetic. Too much like the soap operas her mom watched every other day.   
  
She was pathetic.   
  
After all it was humiliating how she had succumbed to such a sorry state. Her eyes colored red and bulging bags placed below.   
  
Perhaps they weren't bulging yet. But close enough to her liking.   
  
Her feet pattered down the corridors. It was a sunny day and she might as well enjoy it while it lasted.   
  
Perhaps she could continue with her pity party sometime later.   
  
Sometime later, she snorted. As if she didn't host a pity part every second of the past week since that _event_.   
  
Ah, she was a pity whore.   
  
Hermione where have you been?   
  
Ron. He was her friend.   
  
Gosh what in the name of Merlin did you do to yourself? You look terrible!   
  
She looked around the not so deserted hall.   
  
I can always count on you to make me feel better. Really, my ego thanks you for knocking it down a few notches.   
  
She sniffed a little. Her nose was clogged with the mucus that gathered up. She almost gagged.   
  
Are you coming down with something Hermione? You haven't been yourself lately. More like . . .   
  
Him. She was becoming like him.   
  
Perhaps now she understood why he was so withdrawn and why he isolated himself. This kind of love scared her, confused her. More human contact would make her take another step closer to her breakdown.   
  
I am alright, as fine as I can be.   
  
_No one tells lies.   
_   
What a lie. Her mouth opened to let out a maniacal laugh. But she closed it. Ron wouldn't like hearing the foreign sound echoing from her.   
  
Have you seen Harry? She asked innocently.   
  
She could see Ron getting frustrated as she searched the corridor.   
  
No. Hermione, I am talking about your health, why won't you listen?   
  
She didn't want to listen. Her health could go to hell and perhaps get acquainted with unrequited love.   
  
Hello I am Hermione's poor health and you? Why I am Hermione's unrequited love, pleasure to meet you.   
  
Hello Hermione! Don't zone out on me!   
  
He looked quite silly when he waved his hands like that.   
  
I never knew you were such a mother hen, Ron. You surprise me everyday.   
  
Heh. He looked quite funny when he turned red like that.   
  
  
  
Why did he repeat her name so much? Did he like hearing his own -   
  
  
Harry.   
  
What is it with you today?   
  
Harry was with _her_.   
  
With **her**.   
  
Herm -   
  
I'll see you later Ron.   
  
She ran as fast as her feet could carry her.


	7. His Ideal Illusion

_A/N: It seems that the final chapter is actually here. And well this is the first fiction that I actually finished with it not meriting the title of a one shot. So let me make a few shout-outs to those that encouraged me to write.   
  
First to my loyal reviewer Leah. You have always sent me a review since chapter one and hopefully you'll present feedback on this one . This goes out to all my other reviewers as well. You guys always made my ego very pleased.  
  
And last but not least, my beta. Nitya you rock!  
  
Now on with the show**  
  
His Ideal Illusion**_****  
  
He dreamt of many things. This was blatantly obvious that even the bum off the street could understand it. But would he understand the complications that were drawn into his dreams?  
  
The ones his mind was boggled over. The ones that made him retch to the side. Or perhaps the ones that had her in it.  
  
Oh, he remembered those all too well.  
  
Where her plush pink lips would whisper sweet nothings. And had her mouth tugging into a smirk that promised something yet nothing at once.  
  
She would always be there and inviting. Her touch, her caresses, were so substantial that when he awoke he could have sworn she snuck in and that the dream was some reality.  
  
How did he wish for those illusions to be true. For them to cease to be mere hallucinations and commit themselves to being memories.  
  
Long lasting memories.  
  
He breathed out another sigh that had his companion shaking her head.  
  
He snuck a look at her and smiled inwardly.  
  
Given last year he would have pranced out in joy that he was near her. That she would pay attention to him not because he was famous or because of his other superficial portrayal, but solely because of him.  
  
Given two years ago, he would have had some unexplained gurgle in the pit of his stomach. If he were to meet her own stare.  
  
But now . . . everything had surely changed.  
  
He almost wanted everything to go back to how it once was. At least last year he had one constant. An anchor that was metaphorically her.  
  
She would always be there by his side and support him. She was always the one that helped him sort out his childish and the serious dilemmas.  
  
Until now.  
  
Harry. You have to go back to her.  
  
If only it were that easy. His mouth opened up for a reply. Yet there was nothing to say.  
  
Cho let out an exasperated grunt.  
  
Tell me that this issue between the both of you is not going to dissolve your friendship.  
  
He snorted and couldn't help it. What friendship was there? There was never one, if he was to be truthful with the world.  
  
Sure he voiced that declaration out._ Hermione, you are my best friend._  
  
Was that necessarily true? Deep down to the utter core of the definition of best friend?  
  
There was always something more between them. He knew that now.  
  
Now.  
  
How naïve and ignorant he was back then. Even a year ago he couldn't see this. Couldn't see them.  
  
You are thinking about her.  
  
Don't say nothing. Not a word.  
  
Your silence is an obvious indication.  
  
He tried to tune her out, and at the same time, his ears focused more on her words. On what she meant. Again, who would guess incorrectly that she was not in his thoughts every passing second?  
  
Of course I think of her. His voice sounded so thin and almost like it held no meaning.  
  
Of course. Cho repeated.  
  
An expected silence enveloped them. He took the opportunity to look around and admire the surroundings.  
  
The sun glowed brilliantly and the sky was a perfect baby blue. The clouds looked like some cotton bunched together from a children's book.  
  
Everything seemed so predictable and innocent.  
  
He scoffed at the falsity of it. This weather would soon end and bring on the dreaded thunderstorms. He wanted the weather to change and match his morbid mood.  
  
After all, loneliness liked company. There was no reason to disappoint it.  
  
You need to snap out of it.  
  
He whipped his head around to face the sudden spoken Cho. His brow crinkled and he stared at her in puzzlement.  
  
She stood still and met his stare with wary.  
  
You don't need this Harry. Believe me in saying that you'll regret staying the way you are. The sooner you get this settled . . .  
  
The unsettling flame of anger that seemed to always be present with him now, consumed his insides. Who was she to tell him what to do?  
  
Before he gained his better sense, he told her exact thoughts on what he thought of her comments.  
  
Her eyes brightened with held back tears. As soon as his anger quickly came, guilt came with the same velocity.  
  
How can you be so selfish, Harry? You have her and yet you take her for granted.  
  
His guilt now evaporated. It was almost like it was never there. His pity succumbed to his growing anger.  
  
He spit out in disbelief. You of all people accuse me of that?  
  
She tossed her hair aside and glared slightly.  
  
I know very well what is happening Harry. I am only here to help you.  
  
Help? She wanted to help him out?  
  
He almost let out the threatening laughter at that thought.  
  
You want to help me out? You want to possibly aid me in trying to fix this disaster?  
  
Cho nodded her head and held her hand out.  
  
It is not a disaster until I say so. She smiled despite her tears. Harry couldn't help but mimic her.  
  
Perhaps this was not a fiasco after all.   
  
You have something too special with her. A sort of bond...  
  
A bond . . . Yes they did have that. Or else what could have provoked her to follow him through thick and thin. Without the slightest hint of hesitation.  
  
Unlike now.  
  
He tore his hand away from Cho's grasp. It was a calamity. And this situation between him and her was not going to improve anytime soon.  
  
Especially when both of them even avoided each others gaze. It was almost like some divine force prevented him from being near her and vice versa.  
  
He knew that the force was only there because the both of them unconsciously put it there.  
  
Something separated them after that brisk night. And he should have thought twice then to have his proclamation of what was festering him spill out.  
  
Cho looked ready to take his hand back. Like she wanted to reassure him that his problems were going to be settled by just her physical touch.  
  
But her hand came to hover in midair before it dropped to her side. Harry looked at her questionably. Although his silent probe of an exclamation was answered when he looked over his shoulder.  
  
She was like a plague; a curious disease.  
  
Everywhere. She was there every time he didn't want her to be.  
  
And the seconds he searched for her familiar face, he was faced with his own mere shadow.  
  
The wild curls he cherished deeply from her whipped around. She was running towards them in a frantic speed.  
  
He moved neither away or forwards to her.  
  
He saw her eyes widen at the presence of Cho. Her shaking fists trembled more. Whether it was for the passing breeze or anger, he did not know.  
  
I need to speak with you.  
  
Her skin was deathly pale and her eyes were not the classic twinkling brown he was accustomed to.  
  
_What happened to you, Hermione?_  
  
And I mean alone. Hermione said to Cho.  
  
The Chinese girl nodded her head and muttered something he did not quite catch. But before she left both of them alone she stared at him.  
  
The look in her eyes was tragic to him. As if her leaving would confirm something that was frustrating her lately. Something she did not want.  
  
She walked towards the castle and lingered for a moment. She turned her head around to them for the last time and... walked away.  
  
Harry looked at Hermione with a dubious expression. But she simply frowned and shook her head, telling him she'd explain in a moment why she suddenly sought him out.  
  
She tugged on his arm and walked north, approaching a part of the Forbidden Forest.  
  
He did not protest where she was taking him. It seemed that he turned mute and could not form any coherent thought, except those that she was near him.  
  
She halted after ten minutes of their wandering inside the bountiful woodland. She left him for a second and crouched below a bush. Before she crawled underneath, she gestured a hand for him to follow.  
  
His curiosity was mounting each passing second. He could not say no even if he wanted to.  
  
He tried not to focus on the stinging of the thorns or what might be lurking around them. He followed her retreating steps and said nothing.  
  
Finally after a while of wondering where exactly she was taking both of them, she tugged him upwards and smiled a genuine smile.  
  
His hands dropped to his sides and his pupils tried to drink the whole scene in.  
  
The groove they came upon looked exactly like those visions he got from reading out loud a fairy tale in a Muggle library.  
  
Where he had no clue that there was magic. And yet . . . he truly believed in something magical from reading those fantasies.  
  
She shyly stared at him, awaiting his approval. Her head was downcast, and those brunette curls he imagined running his fingers through, cascaded down her front.  
  
His hand lifted and brushed across what he once called bushy hair.  
  
It seemed the appearance gave it a false illusion. Instead of feeling tangled or frizzy even, they were velvety soft to his touch. He could spend all day there and let his fingers keep on touching . . .  
  
Where are we? he asked.  
  
Somewhere and nowhere at once. Where your reality is gone for a moment. she spoke softly, so softly that everything seemed so normal. It was like they never had those complications. And that was what made him feel awkward.  
  
Why am I here? He was full of questions, and it was better asking these then those that wanted to erupt.  
  
To escape, we both need to escape. Again she continued being vague. She looked away from him and walked to the dwindling creek.  
  
This is just one spot of many that I come to. It seems so peaceful and untainted . . . I almost feel guilty for bringing myself here and contaminating it with my filth.  
  
He stepped over a fallen branch and crouched beside her. She was shivering and looked so vulnerable at that moment.  
  
His arms opened wide for her to snuggle into. She jumped up and hugged him tightly. Her head was burrowed deep in his chest.  
  
Why did we change, Harry? Everything was so simple back then.  
  
It was simple. There wasn't that much to worry about. Well, at least the kind of worries that involved her.  
  
I try to forget about what is happening. I am trying to prevent this. I don't want this to begin.  
  
His fingers curled around hers. A sickening feeling was whirling around his stomach.   
  
Why? What is so wrong with us? Together?  
  
Her eyes were bloodshot and he could see the distinct freckles sprinkled across her nose. He never thought he had seen someone so beautiful before.  
  
That is it. Nothing is wrong, but it is. If we progress, we leave something behind. Something we could never retain, get back.  
  
Their friendship would be sacrificed. He knew what the consequences were if this did not work out.  
  
We are worth the risk Hermione. Can you imagine if we don't? There will always be that empty space; that feeling of being incomplete and those thoughts of what if?' Would you be able to stand that?  
  
Her trembling hand lifted and ran across his side of his face. She was mimicking a move, he with great care, did to her. The tip of her fingers bearably touched his cheek.  
  
She spoke distantly.  
  
They gazed at each other for some time. If you asked him right now how long it was, he would not be able to answer you. Only that his response would be long enough to know that she returned his feelings. And that was what mattered.   
  
Is this some ideal illusion? Some hallucination I am making up?  
  
She tossed her head back and laughed. She grabbed him by the shoulders and waved her hand around them.  
  
An ideal illusion? Harry, if this is, then it has to be the worst ideal illusion ever.  
  
What she spoke of was true. This was not a fairy tale that captivated the princess with no conflict. He was no knight in shining armor.  
  
However, he was hers and she was his. This tale did not have a happily ever after, only a step towards a beginning.  
  
_-Finis_


	8. Reality

  


_A/N: This poem was inspired by the story. I felt it should be included in the end as a sort of wrap up. Enjoy my readers._  
  
**_Reality_**  
  
Her mouth tugged into that wondrous smile  
A gentle curve  
Slowly she whips her head around  
This makes him forget  
  
Of any bland thought  
What he was going to do today   
Or what his actions of yesterday caused  
  
His hands grasp his seat tightly  
A numb feeling passes over  
Yet he gapes and does not notice  
  
For his gaze is following her every move  
The flowing pattern of her movements  
The glow emitting from her  
Her perky nose  
And the curling luminous hair  
  
Perhaps she wasn't what men envisioned  
On those lonely nights  
Where a glass of vodka sat by their hand  
  
Or the illusions he once had  
when he dreamt of she  
The one whose face was masked  
The dreams that made him scream  
Out to the darkness of the canopy sky  
  
Maybe his artificial influence of exactly who she was  
Were not correct  
Maybe he dreamt of a blonde hair woman  
With eyes of sea colored blue  
  
Yes  
  
But this made the difference  
  
Of recognizing reality from mere mirages  
  
Watching her casually lick her lips  
And her ink stained hands grasping that quill  
  
How much did he now crave  
To be be part of that charm bracelet she cherished deeply  
  
How much did he want her to smile back at him  
With that added in secretive twinkle of knowing  
  
Knowing what was felt between him and her  
  
He preferred her wild brunette curls  
Her smoldering eyes  
  
To those of that presented woman of the media  
  
She was his  
As he was hers  
  
And the difference between his once naive fallacy to this actuality  
Of him and her  
  
Made up for his wishful thinking  
If his hopes were actually turned into  
Reality  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
